


Gordian Knot

by fElBiTeR



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alex Knows Something That Yassen Doesn't, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25670530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fElBiTeR/pseuds/fElBiTeR
Summary: The only thing that Yassen can properly think about as he flees the library like a coward is that Alex Rider unquestionably knows something that Yassen doesn’t.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	Gordian Knot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit short but I hope you enjoy anyway!<3

Some may mistakenly assume that because Yassen is a contract killer, he has no tolerance for leisurely activities. They may take one look at him, sitting comfortably in an armchair with _A Gentleman in Moscow_ in hand and immediately dismiss him in their minds. After all, what use does a high-status assassin have for reading a work of fiction? Yassen had many preferences when he was younger, likes and dislikes, things he would visibly light up with pleasure at or recoil in disgust to. Hunter taught him to phase those preferences out of his system. Preferences will get him killed.

Yassen, however, is not infallible. He enjoys reading and taking pleasure in words. If anyone in the library knew of his true occupation, they would probably look at him in confusion at how incongruous he seems, peacefully sitting and consuming a book, fingers resting on the upper right corners of pages, delicately turning them with no inclination for murder. 

He reads the same paragraph four times, being too distracted each repetition to focus. Annoyed, Yassen tilts his head up to turn his full attention to something that’s been flickering in and out his peripheral vision for the last five minutes.

There is a boy, a teenager wearing a thin jacket and cargo shorts from across the room, blond hair falling down past his ears, staring at Yassen with puzzlement, as if he can tell that Yassen is out of place in this library. It is, however, impossible for him to know. He is nothing but a bored, curious boy.

Yassen returns to his book and rereads the same paragraph two more times. He makes note of the page number and shuts the book, glancing back up at the teenager. He has honed his instincts for years to ensure he can perceive whenever a situation feels dangerous or off. He is feeling that very same sensation now.

Yassen glances at the closed windows on the adjacent walls, the emergency exit tucked away in an alcove beside the public bathrooms, and the standard door of entry to the room. An MP-433 Grach sits against his hip, fully loaded and prepared for use. No, there will be no ambush. No one knows where he is.

His gaze slides back over to the teenage boy, who is still staring at him like Yassen has just killed his uncle. 

Yassen does an internal double-take, and maybe his eyes even widen slightly. On closer observation, the boy is almost like a carbon copy of Hunter. Yassen mentally calculates the years since Hunter was killed. Would his offspring be a teenager by now?

As if sensing Yassen’s sudden awareness, the teenager makes his way across the room, his eyes never peeling away from Yassen. He secretly hopes that the boy is only coming this way to pull a book off the shelves, but when he stops in front of the armchair Yassen is currently occupying, that hope wilts away and steels as he prepares to deflect any incoming overly curious questions.

“What’s your name?” the teenager asks, eyes full of determination, for a reason still unknown to the assassin.

“Isn’t it rude to ask for someone’s name without introducing yourself first?” Yassen traces the spine of his book, pointedly avoiding the boy’s gaze.

“Alex.”

Yassen glances up from the book. “Matthew Soloman. No last name?”

Alex scoffs. “Why would I give my last name up to a total stranger?” 

Clever. 

“Especially to one who didn’t even give me _their_ real name,” Alex adds.

Too clever.

“Trade, then?”

Alex stares at him suspiciously. “You first.”

Yassen hesitates. He can’t believe he’s about to tell a teenage boy his real name. “Yassen Gregorovich.”

Alex’s eyes sparkle, like he knows something that Yassen doesn’t. “Alex Rider.”

Yassen’s book slides out of his fingers and into the floor with a dull thud, the sudden noise extremely loud in the silence of the library. Nobody looks over at them.

Alex slowly drops to his knees in front of Yassen, who is still frozen with bewilderment, and picks up the book, offering it to the assassin. “Here.”

Yassen accepts the book. “Thank you.”

Alex does not get up. Instead, he remains on the floor, gazing up at Yassen with an indescribable look. Yassen becomes instantaneously aware of how this might look to an outside party, Alex on his knees, dangerously close to the armchair, tucked between Yassen’s legs on either side of him.

“Alex,” Yassen says, his throat suddenly dry. 

“What?” Alex says, peering up at Yassen from under his eyelashes, licking his lips coyly. 

Yassen is shamefully unable to tear his eyes away from the sheen of wetness on Alex’s alluringly pink lips.

Alex’s eyes drop from Yassen’s face down to his crotch and then quickly flits back up. Yassen’s groin involuntarily tightens. 

He can’t be doing this right now with a teenage boy. With Hunter's _son_. Yassen pulls the book over his lap in an inconspicuous manner and swiftly stands up. On cue, Alex stumbles back and falls flat on his ass with an audible _oof_.

“Excuse me,” Yassen says politely, and then walks straight out of the room as quickly as he possibly can without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll come back to this fic later... a lot later :')

**Author's Note:**

> путешественник во времени


End file.
